


A Good Dragon

by Tyelca (TreasureHunter)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: #Angbang, Aka The Fortress, Ancalagon and Sauron are frenemies, Ancalagon is LARGE, Angband, Background Angbang, Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon POV - Freeform, Everyone's scared of Sauron, Except Melkor, Fanfic for Fanart, Female Ancalagon, M/M, Maeglin needs a hug, Maeglin shouldn't make deals with Melkor, Orcs, TRSB18, Tags Are Hard, This thing just grew larger and larger, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreasureHunter/pseuds/Tyelca
Summary: This was written for the TRSB18, or the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2018, and inspired by this amazing piece of art by ThePioden, titled "Who's A Good Dragon?": http://pidraws.com/misc/MelkorDarginSketch.jpg (I don't know how to link pls help)The life and times of Beleriand's greatest dragon, Ancalagon the Black!Featuring cute baby dragonlings, confused and suspicious child-dragons, bored adolescent dragons, exasperated Lieutenants and an encounter with Maeglin the traitor-Elf.





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThePioden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePioden/gifts).



> Ancalagon is born.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in FA 455.
> 
> Ancalagon is born.

The first thing she is aware of, long before she knows she is aware of anything, is the heartbeat that  _ thumps _ rhythmically, slowly, always surrounding her. It is to this heartbeat that she listens before she has ears, in the time that her body develops from the tiniest of cells to a miniature but finished dragon. She counts each beat and finds it echo in her own chest, and when the time is finally there, she experimentally headbutts the darkness that holds her, protects her. A sharp sound, disturbing the perfect rhythm of her life and the first one she made herself, and small cracks spread out over her dark chamber. She does it again, and again, and again, and eventually the shell breaks around her, collapses and buries her. She has to find her way out by herself, for it is a lesson and a test both. She has to be strong.

For the first time in her new life she uses her muscles, stretches her wings. She is cold and wet and she shivers, but the shards of her shell fall down as she shrugs, a motion that turns into a full-blown stretch. She opens her eyes, and she can  _ see _ , and the world around her is a whirlwind of color and sound and smells, and together these senses present her a picture that she can interpret, that she can understand.

She hears the heartbeat, louder now than ever before. She searches for its origin, instinctively knowing that is where she needs to go. She moves her head experimentally, feels the muscles in her long neck tense and relax. She discovers the sounds are louder to her left, and that is when she sees it: a black shape that is not mere shadow, but a manifestation of the absence of light. It beckons her and she moves closer, unsteadily and not yet used to moving her limbs in a coordinated fashion. She wobbles, falls over a few times, but everytime she rises again to continue her short journey. Her goal does not move but she feels it watching her, with another sense she now becomes aware of she has. The heartbeat gets louder and it invigorates her, boosts her motivation and her endurance, giving her the energy to try again, to take one more step, to come just a bit closer still. And eventually, after having overcome many obstacles, both in her way and in her mind, she arrives. The black shape stares down at her, its gaze dark and heavy but not unwelcome. Not unfamiliar.

Then, slowly, the shape bends down from its immense height and she is scooped up in what she’ll later learn is the palm of a hand, unadorned but for the white lines punctuating the dark skin. It smells like earth and water and air and everything, but mostly like smoke and fire. She knows those last scents already, for they also originate in her own belly.

As the hand lifts her up, she sees the world in perspective for the first time. She stretches her wings, flaps them experimentally and little gusts of wind carry her up, before she falls back again. A sound, a grin, a laugh from above her, and she knows she has done well. The heartbeat is now incredibly loud; it transcends her hearing and she can touch it and scent it and see it. It reverberated through her hollow bones. It is beautiful.

She wants to proclaim it, to show the world what she sees. She opens her mouth and, not yet knowing how to articulate such emotions, she pushes everything she feels out. A jet of white-hot fire erupts from her throat, scorching the already black skin and heating the air around her. Her still-flapping wings carry her higher than ever before, and she rises until she is face to face with the shadow. It gazes at her, unmoving but intense, and she is overcome with the need to show off her newly-found skills. So she gathers all she feels under the powerful gaze, the pride, the happiness, the determination, everything - and pushes it outwards. The jet of fire that lights her belly and heats her throat marvels upwards in a spiral of flames and shortly illuminates the dark eyes studying her. They reflect her fire and still shine brighter than she ever will. But that is alright, because he is the owner of the heartbeat -  _ thump, thump-ump, thump _ \- and she feels him in her very bones.


	2. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place late FA 466.
> 
> The Lieutenant comes and goes to Melkor's private quarters as he pleases, and Ancalagon is suspicious.

She loves to play. Among her favorite games are those such as catch-the-prey and find-the-prisoner, and she plays them as often as she can, and sometimes she combines them. She is yet able to duck between the many busy servants on the levels higher up in the mountain fortress, taking turns quickly and suddenly and with surprising agility to those jumping out of her way. She is fast, and she is proud of it. She also grows, and her wingspan stretches wider, and she finds she has to time her corners differently, more careful. Her speed increases; her maneuverability does not. It results in multiple collisions before one time she bumps headfirst into the Lieutenant.

They both fall down, the precariously balanced pile of paperwork all scattered over the ground. They are in a seldom-used corridor near her master’s quarters, and she hadn’t expected anyone here. No one is allowed this close to her master without his express command; she guards him as well as she can.

She has seen the Lieutenant on a few occasions, mostly strategy meetings she has no interest in but attends anyway. But those had been years ago. She knows her master holds him in high regard, but she has yet to see what the Lieutenant has to offer that makes him worthy of her master’s attentions. His recent military failure is still fresh in her mind. Still, despite her personal misgivings she knows her master listens to what the Lieutenant whispers in his ear, and it would not do for her to leave a bad impression.

Instead of taking to the air again, she scrambles to her paws, low against the ground and uses her wings to swipe the documents back together. The Lieutenant is doing the same, not even looking at her; she feels remarkably inadequate, as if she’d somehow failed a test though she never has disappointed her master before. She doesn’t like it, but stubbornly keeps at her self-appointed task until all the papers are more or less stacked in their pile again. The Lieutenant rises then, arms full, and gives her a single look that makes her want to hide in a corner. Not out of fear; she doesn’t know fear. But shame, perhaps. There is a hard glint in his gold eye that makes her want to cower before him. She knows he is not more powerful than her master, but nonetheless there are but few who can match him. She is not one of them, not yet. In that moment she vows to herself she will be, one day. But for now she hates how weak she is when faced with him. As he turns sharply on his heel, stepping past her as he continues his way towards her master’s private rooms, she flaps her wings and she is airborne, silent and graceful. She follows him at a safe distance, watches as he enters her master’s chambers without even knocking. She expects the Lieutenant to be thrown out at any moment, but time passes and there is no trace of her master’s displeasure.

She wishes to go closer, but while the Lieutenant may ignore all of her master’s orders without repercussions, she is not about to take that risk. So eventually she turns around and flies the other way, ready to tear off the head of anyone unfortunate enough to be in her way. She needs to think.

 

* * *

 

 

Her favorite place in the whole enormity that is fortress is in the very top, in those narrow places just underneath the peaks of the mountain. Nobody ever comes there and they are not used for storage either. She curls up on herself in the notch, using her inner flame to keep herself warm in the cold drafts that now and then enter from dark, unseen places. She visits here often, whenever she feels the need for solitude. It is her secret, though her master knows about her fondness of the high places and possibly about this one too. If he does, he’s never mentioned it. She thinks about the Lieutenant and about her master, and can find no explanation for the uncharacteristic leniency her master offers in his case. The other lieutenants and captains certainly don’t receive this special treatment. And ever since the incident earlier this year her master has been exceptionally harsh.

As far as she can see the Lieutenant has done nothing to warrant his positive reception, and it makes her suspicious. Perhaps the Lieutenant has some sort of hold over her master? It is almost blasphemous to think her master isn’t able to deal with the Lieutenant himself, but she cannot take the risk, however small it may be, that her master is not in control.

She makes turns nest in the notch of the mountain peaks into her personal headquarters, and there she thinks and plans how to discover and expose the nefarious plans of the Lieutenant. Stray thoughts that he might be a spy of the light have entered her brain, but even she cannot give them any credit. Cruelty radiates from the Lieutenant; his delight in suffering is genuine, she can tell. Her master sometimes smiles when the Lieutenant isn’t looking; as far as she knows, those are his only smiles since the security disaster in the beginning of the year.

It is a confusing business, she concludes, and the best way to receive some clarity is to shadow the Lieutenant. Maybe that way she’ll finally discover whatever secret the Lieutenant hides.

 

* * *

 

 

The next few weeks she follows the Lieutenant as quietly as she can, even as her scaly body continues to grow and some of the smaller corridors become too narrow for her to pass through. In those instances, she guesses his most likely destination and waits there. Sometimes she is correct, but most of them he doesn’t turn up. She knows that long ago, it was the Lieutenant who built Angband; it is only logical he knows all the secret passages. She also suspects the Lieutenant is aware of her movements, but he hasn’t made any comment yet, and until the moment he does she is determined to keep it up.

Unfortunately the Lieutenant doesn’t do anything unnatural, and as time passes she berates herself for her treasonous thoughts. But she still cannot satisfactory explain why the Lieutenant has the freedom and power that he does, unchecked by her master, when he was responsible for one of the greatest losses of the war.

In her desperation to find something, anything, she grows more daring in her attempts to shadow him. One day she follows him to his own quarters, something she has never done before, located at the very roots of the mountains where the air is stifling hot and the stone turns liquid.

Her tongue rolls out as a reflex; she has a furnace in her lungs, but the rest of her body is uncomfortably hot. She barely has to flap her wings with the currents of steaming air keeping her in the air. She cannot possibly fathom why he would choose such a place for himself.

The arches that support the rest of the mountain cast great shadows over the high ceiling, and it is in these shadows that she hides. Her black scales blend into the unevenly charred stone and she is invisible.

She watches quietly as the Lieutenant relieves himself from his heavy armor. It is the first time she sees him like this, in a simple combination of pants and tunic with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks smaller, somehow, even as his movements are more menacing. He moves _graceful_ , she observes with not a little surprise. He doesn’t waste energy on unnecessary gestures. He moves calculatingly.

She is suddenly seized by the realization that the Lieutenant is much more powerful than she’d thought and she flattens herself against the wall in response. Her suspicion that he has something nefarious in mind returns in full force.

The Lieutenant meanwhile sits at a desk, shifting through more files than she’d ever seen together. He closes those piercing golden eyes for a moment and, momentarily relieved from her fear of discovery, she sees the frown that marrs the otherwise smooth face. There are shadows under the Lieutenant's eyes she’s never noticed before and his mouth is drawn tight. In a moment of epiphany she knows that if she were caught here, the Lieutenant would not take it kindly. She is important to her master, and the Lieutenant knows that; yet she is not entirely certain he cares about that right now. And her master might just forgive him for it, if his past actions are any indication.

She knows it is dangerous to predict her master’s actions, but in this she feels relatively sure. She stops, re-evaluates her own place in the hierarchy of the fortress, and a feeling she has not felt before enters her chest. It takes her a few moments to work out what it is: jealousy.

She is, while not replaceable, certainly not irreplaceable either. It is a hard truth that she will need time to accept.

She does not have that time now and she tries to undo her realization, at least for the moment. The Lieutenant stirs slightly, groans the groan of the exhausted, and reopens his eyes, which just so happen to lock with hers.

For a few seconds she cannot move, caught in that golden gaze that scrutinizes her and finds her lacking. The Lieutenant’s head falls back.

“Come on down then,” he orders in a tone that brooks no argument. Hesitantly she obeys; loosens her grip on the blackened stone and gives up her cover. She moves carefully, not convinced he won’t obliterate her as soon as she reaches him. The Lieutenant’s eyes follow her as she spreads her wings and sails down to the other side of the room. He sits up straighter now, his face once more the immovable facade she’s used to. It is reassuring and disconcerting at the same time.

Her front paws reach the floor first and the rest of her body follows in a graceful arc. She has heard the Lieutenant appreciates beauty; why, she doesn’t understand, but she’ll play all her cards if it means coming out of this encounter alive. The ground shakes underneath her and it suddenly dawns on her how close she is to the heart of the mountain. Maybe that is why the Lieutenant choose this place for himself? The heat makes her warm and drowsy but she forces herself to remain alert in the face of this imminent danger.

The Lieutenant makes her wait for some time before he speaks again; she does not dare break the silence. His voice is steel and ice. “Care to explain why you decided to lounge in my quarters?”

There is absolutely nothing in his tone that gives her a hint as to how to answer so she is forced to go out on a limb. She stumbles with her words and her sentences are half-formed, and eventually the Lieutenant holds up his hand and she quiets immediately.

“Just the truth, please.” The last word is sarcastic and biting and she shudders despite the temperature. She doesn’t want to reveal her suspicions, but knows that lying in this instance is infinitely worse. But she can be powerful and confident, even if she doesn’t feel that way.

“You are sabotaging master,” she accuses. She is proud of herself: her voice sounds strong and she uses her newly acquired height to tower high above the Lieutenant. “I don’t know how, but you are. I will find out what hold you have and why, and then you will be renounced and cast out!”

There is a moment where they lock eyes again, deep black and bright gold. Both sets of pupils are slit and narrowed; both gazes are intensely focused on the other.

“You come and go as you please,” she resumes, “your mistakes are swept away and punishment never finds you. You enter master’s chambers without permission but he doesn’t throw you out. You are up to something and I will find out what.”

For a few seconds he just stares at her, face closed off but eyebrows high, before he falls back into his chair. A sound bubbles up from his throat, deep and sharp. It is laughter, she is disturbed to realize. Laughter that isn’t a smug self-congratulating grin or the devilish little smile she knows of him, but genuine laughter. He seems to think she’s funny; with each exhale the flames in his hair flare bright and his ashen locks the color of granite release a puff of smoke.

She is offended. He is mocking her, she is sure, and she doesn’t like it. Not when she’s just accused him of the worst thing imaginable, not right now. It makes her falter, it makes her uncertain, makes her wonder if she’s missed something important, something obvious, and the Lieutenant knows it. She wonders if this is an elaborate test from her master.

She doesn’t think so. The tests her master subjects her to are different, more straightforward and less elaborate. Not easier, but easier to understand. Then again, her master cannot afford to be predictable. But her instinct tells her it is not the case, which means that while the Lieutenant may or may not hold something over her master, he now certainly has a hold over her.

To emphasize her anger, and to stop the Lieutenant’s incessant laughter, she takes a deep breath and exhales. A jet of fire spits through the air, the flames licking and burning all in its path. It is aimed directly at the Lieutenant.

When the heat dissipates the Lieutenant still sits there, untouched by her rage. He has stopped laughing though, and that pleases her. Instead he looks annoyed and that quickly puts a damper on her victorious mood.

“Are you quite done?” he asks and she nods timidly. Despite everything, the Lieutenant’s wrath is terrible and she doesn’t wish his foul mood turned upon her.

“Good,” he continues. “As for your allegations, you are too young to understand what you speak of, so I suggest you keep silent.” She doesn’t say anything. “What goes on between myself and Melkor-” here she gasps, for _no one_ is allowed to call her master by name, without even using a title - “is none of your concern.” The Lieutenant sighs and the sound is amused. “Though I am impressed with your ah, _protectiveness_. I had not expected it.”

The praise is sudden and she makes a soft pleased sound. The Lieutenant quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, though it does make her remember his earlier command to remain silent.

But the Lieutenant is not done yet. “You are not a complete waste of time and space. Protect Melkor, and I might even come to tolerate you.”

She is not entirely sure what to do with that last comment, but takes it in stride. The Lieutenant has called her far worse in the past, and this time his voice is inflected strangely - she would almost call it fondness, were the Lieutenant not known to abhor such language.

The Lieutenant, apparently done with the one-sided conversation, turns back to his desk and she recognizes it for the dismissal it is.

When she leaves his chambers, she realizes he has never directly denied her accusations. But he has been successful in soothing her concerns. She doesn’t know whether that is a sign of his skill in lying or if he told the truth, but she believes they have an understanding now and is prepared to honor it.


	3. Adolescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the winter between FA 506 and FA 507.
> 
> Ancalagon leaves the fortress for the first time.

She is bored. She has almost grown to her full size and most of the fortress is now too small for her, forcing her to remain curled up at the larger halls just underneath the mountain flank. She cannot reach her favorite spots anymore and that annoys her. Her temper has been sour for weeks and her irritation only increases when her master seemed to have lost interest in her. It has been a long time since he’d summoned her for anything.

No longer any inspections, tests, commands, anything. It empties her days and exhausts her nights. And since her size bans her from the interior halls of the fortress, there is precious little to do and even fewer to talk to. Most orcs are too afraid of her to come close, and though that pleases her and she actively encourages that disposition, it is lonely. So she is bored; the only person whom she knows and has regular contact with is the Lieutenant. It has been a strange turn of events that resulted in their rapport, but she finds herself looking forward to his visits.

He speaks to her about the war effort, relays news and messages and gives her tips and advice. Most of that advice is unwanted and goes unheeded, and in those cases the Lieutenant simply rolls his eyes and tells her it is her own choice. She often feels bad afterwards.

She is not the only dragon in her master’s service, not by far, but she’s the only one excluded like this. She isn’t even sure her master excludes her on purpose; with all that he has to do she won’t be surprised he’ll forget about her until he needs her again. She tries not to let it affect her self-esteem. She knows she is important, knows she is destined for great things, and that those things will come in time. She is just tired of waiting around for something to happen.

On top of that she is cramped and uncomfortable and she longs to spread her wings. She doesn’t even know how large she’s grown, for there is nowhere she can stretch out. It irritates her incessantly, a nagging thought that is always present at the back of his mind.

But she waits for orders. Despite her current understanding with the Lieutenant, she is not about to follow his example and defy her master’s commands.

She lies curled up on herself, one of the few bearable positions, when she hears footsteps echo through the cavern she’s holed herself up in. She lifts her head, blinking heavily as she focuses on the approaching figure. She already knows who it is; the Lieutenant has a very particular step and his metal boots always echo loudly against the stone.

Today he is clad in a dark tunic fastened with gold accents. On his wrists he wears vambraces, but she can spot no other armor. While not rare, it is uncommon to see him thus. The Lieutenant comes to a stop before her head. She dwarves him now; he only barely reaches her mouth. He isn’t uncomfortable; she has a sneaking suspicion that with all the power currently at her disposal she would still lose to him in a fight. But those things don’t matter, for they don’t fight anymore.

“Naptime is over. Follow me.” The Lieutenant never bothers with pleasantries, she reflects drily. Still, she does as he says and unfolds her body, stretching those few muscles she can stretch. She doesn’t mind the Lieutenant’s brusque and impatient manner, having grown used to it over time. And more important, she is curious. It has been long since anyone ever brought her something to do. It takes time but eventually she’s on her legs and follows the Lieutenant, who’s been waiting impatiently.

He doesn’t speak as he leads her through the widest corridors that she only just fits through. Orcs, slaves and others scramble aside as the Lieutenant marches through without acknowledging them. When she then appears from the shadows they screech and back off even further. Those still left in her path are trampled.

She doesn’t know what way they’re taking through the immense fortress. It is too vast for anyone to know more than a select part of it. Except the Lieutenant, of course; and her master.

She notices that the further they go, the colder it gets and she has the impression they are ascending and her curiosity grows. They must be relatively close to those halls she frequented so often in her childhood.She knows there is very little in the upper chambers of the mountain and she cannot imagine for what purpose they are visiting. She debates asking, but ultimately decides against it. The Lieutenant won’t tell her and it will only ruin the surprise.

The Lieutenant stops walking in a hall that is, with the exception of a stalagmite here and there, completely empty. It is cold and strangely bright, despite there being no torches. She turns around, inspects the hall. It is still too small for her, but more comfortable than her old cavern. She turns back to the Lieutenant and folds down, content with her new space, though it does seem detached. She sees even more boredom in her immediate future, but doesn’t complain.

In the back of her mind she thinks it strange that it was the Lieutenant, the second-most powerful being in the mountain, who showed her this new place. It could be explained by his extensive knowledge of the fortress, but even then it is unlikely.

The look on the Lieutenant’s face arrests her. It is a mix of annoyance, amusement, impatience, incredulity and exasperation. She hesitantly stand up again and the Lieutenant’s face relaxes minimally.

So, there is a reason he brought her here after all. She doesn’t speak, just waits for the Lieutenant. It is a game they’d played many times before, and she’s gotten better at waiting. She thinks that maybe that was the Lieutenant’s own way of teaching her without actually teaching her.

The Lieutenants glances at the ceiling, prompting her to do the same. She doesn't see anything out of the ordinary: just irregularly shaped stone. There is that strange brightness, of course, but it is not particular to the ceiling.

She looks back to the Lieutenant. “You are now over fifty sun-years,” he says, and sounds disinterested. The comment throws her off, for while it is true, she cannot imagine why it matters. “Yes,” she responds, not quite knowing what else to say. Despite her acquaintance with the Lieutenant, she still cannot read him at all.

His lips curl a little. “Melkor wondered about your growth and has decided to let you get a taste of the world.” The last words were definitely tingled with irony. “This is the very top of the fortress. One thin layer of stone between this hall and the outside world.”

He cannot be saying what she thinks he’s saying. She stares at him unblinking, her jaw hitting the ground. She doesn’t know how to feel. She is ecstatic and surprised, and currently those emotions drown out everything else. But she does think that it should be her master standing with her right now. The thought cuts through her elation like a knife. She is disappointed and it hurts, deep inside. But her master has thought about her, has decided this is the best course of action, so she focuses on that thought and returns her attention to the Lieutenant.

He folds his arms, a clear sign he’s waiting for her. He has already been generous with his time when compared to his normal behaviour and she knows his patience won’t last much longer.

“At some point you will join the war and you need to be prepared. It is impossible to predict what new tricks the enemy has come up with, and therefore you’ll need to get used to every situation imaginable.” He nods towards the ceiling. “Go on.”

It takes her a moment to understand - he wants her to burst the ceiling. She doubts whether she’ll be able to, for the roof looks like solid rock and there isn’t enough space to spread her wings and gain momentum. Still, she pushes herself off the ground and spreads her wings as wide as the hall allows. The lower part of her body, not to mention her tail, are still on the ground when her face first touches stone. She expects a painful impact, but instead the rocky layer gives way easily and suddenly, for the first time in her live, she is outside.

She doesn’t know what exactly she’d expected it to be like, but she can say for certain that it wasn’t this. The first thing she notices, and for a few seconds the only thing, is the brightness. Immediately she closes her eyes, slides shut all three eyelids, and still the light hurts.

The second thing she becomes aware of is the cold. It settles over her body like a blanket and she shivers against it.

Then the rest of her body is also outside. For the first time in years she opens her wingspan, parades through the sky and following her own tail as she knows the Lieutenant watches beneath. She can smell him: ash and fire and molten metal. Her muscles ache but she doesn’t let it stop her, and it gets better with every passing second.

Then she dares to open her eyes.

At first she doesn’t comprehend what she sees, but then the visual information combines with her hearing and nose and together they form an understandable image. Even so, she can scarcely believe it’s true.

Above her the sky fades to a deep blue that is so dark that it almost seems black. It is sprinkled with numerous little pinpricks of light and she surmises these must be stars, and she hates them.

Around her there is nothing, save the cold and the still painful brightness of what she assumes is the sun, far to the south. She’d heard enough stories about the despicable thing but finds the reality even worse.

Directly underneath is the hall through which she’d just made her exit. A gaping hole reveales the Lieutenant amidst the rubble, studying her intensely. Were it not for the crater, she would never have even guessed at the location, for surrounding it is a similar, uneven landscape of rocks and boulders and deep crevasses. It is rugged and bare.

Further down the flanks of the mountain fortress she sees black smoke roiling. It is thick and heavy, and covers the ground like a suffocating blanket, stretching as far as she can see in all directions.

Never before has she seen something like this. She feels a fierce joy and even her master’s absence stings less than before. She circles the skies a few times and then she descends again, landing on the mountain close to the crater. The Lieutenant appears at her side.

“Well done. Melkor will be pleased.” He looks like he means it. “Get used to the sun, the skies, and the ground. You’ll need it when the war picks up again.”

She nods. She understands. She is excited, though she tries to hide it.

“You can enter the fortress whenever you want, of course,” the Lieutenant continues. “Use this exit and keep it hidden from any prying eyes. If one of those damned birds comes up here, tear it apart. But I warn you: do not let yourself be seen. You are Melkor’s secret weapon and not meant to be unleashed yet. Any failure will not be tolerated.”

He doesn’t have to tell her. She knows, and she does not think any punishment of the Lieutenant enough should she fail her master. She thinks the Lieutenant knows this too.

“I hereby appoint you guardian of Thangorodrim’s summit. You rapport to me periodically, and if something happens notify me immediately. Do you understand?”

She nods. She cannot believe this is truly happening: only a few hours ago she’d been lamenting her lack of things to do; now she fulfills an important position in her master’s defense.

She is ready. In the far distance, she smells blood.


	4. Young Adult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the winter between FA 509 and FA 510.
> 
> Ancalagon spots Maeglin in the mountains.

She is flying a simple patrol south of the Fen of Serech when she spots him. At first she isn’t sure if what she sees is correct; she flies high above the clouds and it isn’t her eye that notices him first. It is her nose that picks up his scent, full of anger and darkness, and it lures her closer. She carefully considers her decision: her master had ordered her not to reveal herself under any circumstances, but she cannot help but feel this is an opportunity. He is  _ interesting _ , and suddenly she understands the Lieutenant’s fascination with those fragile creatures.

She circles lower and prays the figure doesn’t look up.

She studies him. He is male, she is relatively certain, from the way he dresses and the way he moves. And he has a distinct masculine smell, though with Elves that doesn’t mean all that much.

After a few more minutes of mental contemplation, she decides on a middle way. She abandons her patrol and speeds back to Thangorodrim, to report to the Lieutenant. She doesn’t spot him at first, but isn’t discouraged; the Lieutenant has never kept to a predictable schedule.

She petrifies a nearby Orc sergeant with her gaze and orders him to bring her the Lieutenant. The creature almost falls down dead at the thought of approaching the Lieutenant, but nonetheless sets of at a satisfying sprint.

She waits until the Lieutenant marches into her line of sight, clearly angry at being disturbed at whatever he was doing. She takes him in: his fiery hair is in disarray, red welts like fingernails dot his upper arms. He only wears a sleeveless tunic over wrinkled pants and his boots look like they’ve quickly been pulled on. Nobody dares to comment, of course, and she doesn’t see the sergeant she sent out to fetch the Lieutenant anywhere.

She suspects what is was he was doing, but isn’t entirely sure yet and she is too embarrassed to ask.

They have attracted quite a crowd but one glare from the Lieutenant has them all scattered, though she doesn’t doubt they are still listening. The fortress is that kind of place.

“What?” he asks shortly and she knows she has to keep this very brief and cannot overestimate the importance of the matter. The Lieutenant will not take kindly to her if she doesn’t.

She explains about the Elf, about the aura around him, and her suspicion he might hail from the Hidden City. This last bit of information does the trick, she sees: the Lieutenant’s eyes take on a shine that only appears when he is intrigued. She feels her muscles relax and waits for the Lieutenant to come to a decision.

It takes less than a minute but she counts every heartbeat. Eventually, he says, “Take a legion from Gothmog - he is stationed closest - and lead them to this slave. I want him alive - no killing, maiming, or any other kind of funny business.” The Lieutenant doesn’t even have to make a threat. She aspires to some day be like him.

She acknowledges the order and takes off again. Gothmog gives her some trouble when she requests the promised legion, but when she namedrops the Lieutenant he reluctantly backs off.

The soldiers are afraid of her and she lets them be. She orders them in the right direction and repeats the Lieutenant’s orders: no killing or maiming. Faced with her immensity, they do not object.

She takes to the skies again as the orcs stealthily traverse the mountains. They are strong and swift and she is glad Gothmog hadn’t fooled around when picking his soldiers.

She picks up the scent of the Elf from earlier and follows it; her troops do the same. Their progress slows down as stealth takes precedence over speed, but she doesn’t want to risk the Elf disappearing or worse, summoning an army. Those little pests had a nasty habit of showing up with great numbers where they were unwanted. And the Elf is armed: a large sword hangs at his hip.

But for now he seems unaware of the trap around him, and at her sign the orcs jump forward and catch the Elf by surprise. He fights valiantly, killing a great amount of her warriors, but sheer numbers eventually defeat him.

He is knocked out - not dead, she is assured - and bound tight. The orcs take him back to the fortress.

 

* * *

 

 

The prisoner is awake when he is brought before her master. The Lieutenant is there too and at this point she is no longer surprised. Since it had been her initiative and mission, she is allowed into the throne room as well. She has to lay down, cramped and unable to move, but she fits inside.

The prisoner is still clad in his armor and spits on the ground. She is surprised his sword is still bound at his side. He is shackled and the chains only emphasize his image of a feral beast. The Lieutenant wears an approving smile.

It is her master who speaks first, and addresses her. “You have done well in bringing me this traitor, child,” he begins, but is then interrupted by a furious outburst from the prisoner. She sees the Lieutenant frown.

“I am no traitor!” he screams and the noise echoes through the throne room.

She looks at her master to take a cue on how to react, but to her surprise he laughs and waves the protest away. “Not yet,” he replies airily, and it shuts the prisoner up faster than any blow to the head could.

Her master continues praising her as if nothing happened. She isn’t sure whether it’s genuine or another means to upset the prisoner, but she preens under his words nonetheless.

The prisoner remains silent throughout and to her he seems too preoccupied within his own mind to pay much attention to her master. Normally she would forcefully remind him, but a glance at her master reveals this is exactly what he wants.

He finishes his speech. His tone is almost gentle when he turns to the prisoner and asks, “Isn’t there anything you desire?”

She smells the conflicting thoughts battling inside this Elf, even through the dominating scent of blood. He is so painfully obvious and she wishes he would hurry up and submit to her master already. The Elf is interesting, true, but she doesn’t have the patience of her master and the Lieutenant. Yet, she doesn’t interrupt.

Her master turns to go and the Lieutenant moves to follow, a careless, “Put him back into his cell,” thrown over his shoulder. It is this moment that breaks the Elf. She sees his eyes widen, dark with despair, as he calls out, “Wait!”

Her master stops.

“I do… there is something I desire,” the Elf says and slumps down in his chains, defeated. Her master doesn’t speak but waits for the Elf to continue. She sees the Lieutenant lean forward, anticipation evident from his stance.

“There is someone I love,” here the Elf suddenly stopped, seemingly unable to continue. The Lieutenant prompts him. “You love someone?”

“Idril Celebrindal,” the Elf sighs and his eyes are far away. “Her beauty is matched only by the stars and her heart only by the strongest steel. She is perfect. But,” and here the Elf’s expression darkens with pain and anger, “she wed a mortal. I want him, and their halfbreed of a child, dead.”

She sees the Lieutenant share a look with her master. This is certainly promising.

“What is your name?” the Lieutenant asks.

“Maeglin.”

“And do you hail from the Hidden City of Gondolin, Maeglin?”

The Elf must know what is implied, for he recoils as if he’s been slapped. He takes a few deep, ragged breaths that echo loudly. The Lieutenant waits it out and her master looks on, so she does the same.

This is the first time she’s seen anything like this and watches with rapt attention.

“Yes… I-I live in Gondolin,” the Elf stutters. The Lieutenant smiles.

“I am sure we can come to an agreement,” the Lieutenant soothes, “one where you can have your beloved Idril Celebrindal and we have something we desire equally. What do you say?”

The Elf is silent, deliberating. Then he raises his head and says, in a voice that is terrible in its clearness, “I say we have a deal.”

Her master chuckles. “I knew we could come to an agreement. Now there is only the small matter of ensuring you’ll keep to our deal.” His eyes flash darkly and it oppresses the entire throne room. She knows her master has as little to do with traitors as possible, despite him using them for his own ends.

The Elf echoes her master’s chuckle, but from his mouth it sounds bleak. “You want to ensure I won’t turn traitor twice, is that it? Very well.” He straightens and motions to the sword still strapped to his hip. “This is Anguirel, forged by my father. It is half of a unique pair, made from an iron ore that fell from the sky. It is unique, and it is on this sword that I swear.”

Her master eyes him for a moment, then nods. “I accept your oath and consider you bound to it. My Lieutenant shall see to the details.” Her master turns away, but once more the traitor interrupts.

“You haven’t sworn anything yourself.”

Her master stops mid-stride and the Lieutenant snarls at the prisoner. She reacts similarly.

“Indeed, I have not,” her master says, then walks out.

 

* * *

 

 

Maeglin enters the great hall she’s long since commandeered for herself. She opens her eyes but doesn’t lift her head, both because he doesn’t deserve the gesture and as an unfortunate consequence of the presence of a ceiling. His shackles are gone and he walks with a confident stride. His sword still hangs at his side.

She doesn’t trust him. She has a multitude of reasons for that, ranging from his race to the way he carries himself and from his actions during the last great battle to his infuriating smirk. But most of all because he is a traitor, and everybody knows not to trust traitors.

She supposes her master knows what this Maeglin character is all about, but personally she holds on to her reservations.

“You are responsible for my capture.” It is a statement, not a question, but she nods her affirmation anyway.

A sudden, harsh laugh startles her and she narrows her eyes. The traitor smells  _ wrong _ and she hopes it isn’t contagious. She hopes he won’t try to turn her to his side, for then she would be forced to incinerate him here and now and her master won’t be pleased.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or not,” he says, and his words are so unexpected that she barks out a laugh of her own.

“I do mean it,” Maeglin says. “I have done a terrible thing, I know it, but I will gain my deepest wish. I do not doubt countless others would have done the same thing.”

She doesn’t know about that, but then again her master is  _ her master _ , not some strange Elven king colonizing a land that doesn’t belong to him. Perhaps things are different for Elves.

“I have just returned from meeting with the Gortha- your Lieutenant,” Maeglin begins and there is a slight quiver in his voice. “I understand why he is so… valued here.” She thinks he doesn’t know the half of it, but doesn’t say anything. It isn’t her business anyway, and certainly not this traitor’s.

Maeglin, apparently sensing her hostility, sighs and turns to leave. He shoots her a look over his shoulder and she doesn’t know what he sees, but it makes him straighten his stance while his steps quicken, and she is left in peace.


	5. Adulthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place just before FA 545.
> 
> Ancalagon and Melkor talk about the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the scene depicted in ThePioden's amazing art !

She is alone with her master in one of her favourite halls inside the fortress, one of the few that can contain her whole body. It has been a long time since she had last seen him and she is ecstatic he came here all the way from the center of the mountain. Sometimes she wishes for the times when she was still small enough to traverse the whole mountain without worrying whether she would fit through the corridors and doorways. 

The final battle for the continent draws near and her master is here to speak strategy with her.

She wants to lead the charge, but her master waves her away. She is still supposed to be his secret weapon, his ace in the game. At this rate she wonders if she’ll ever see real battle; the war is going great and up till now her only real experience had been with the traitor-Elf Maeglin, who in the end surprisingly didn’t turn on them.

She argues that she has to learn at some point, and the middle of her first real war isn’t the optimal place. Her master ignores her concerns and points to her training with the Lieutenant, which had been harsh and grueling, but she cannot be certain how realistic that was until she experiences the real thing.

She brings up Glaurung, who didn’t need any training, and it comes out like a whine. Her master doesn’t dignify it with a response. She is sullen as she remembers the fate of the older dragon, but despite that she is still chagrined she doesn’t yet get to go.

She is loathe to admit it, but she is nervous. She wants to make her master proud but she doesn’t have enough confidence in her own skills. On the other hand, she tries to comfort herself, if her master says she’ll do fine, she probably will.

She mustn’t have been entirely successful in hiding her distress, for her master puts the charred palm of his right hand on her head and she feels his heartbeat. It soothes her as it always has done. She focuses on it, steady and sure, feels it beat through her own veins. It is her very first memory and the one she holds closest to her heart.

She breathes her fire, just like she’d done the first time. It comes out as a controlled, casual jet of flame as opposed to the unchecked fountain of sparks of back then.

Her master smiles, and she can just imagine he remembers that very first moment too.

“When it is your time, you will crush them,” her master assures, and it’s the closest thing to encouragement and an admission she’s ever heard him say. The blinding light of the two jewels in his crown illuminate her cavern and cast a halo over her master’s face. She has to blink and nods. She trusts her master above all else.

One day she will get to go. And she will be alright.


	6. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in FA 587.
> 
> Ancalagon dies.

Ships are not supposed to fly, is the thought that won’t leave her alone. She has to concentrate, but that little sentence keeps nagging at the back of her mind. She has to lead the other dragons in their charge and she does, but time and time again that little ship weaves through their defenses. It is certainly more maneuverable than they are, she crossly admits to herself. If only it would stay in the same place long enough for her to burn it down.

Alas, she has no time to chase the minor inconvenience as the battle continues. War is exhausting, she has long since discovered, and she longs back to the days when she could lounge about the fortress all day.

But she has to go on, for her master if for nothing else. So she does; beneath her she can see the bright flame that is the Lieutenant, fighting in the middle of the fray and killing countless enemies. He is graceful and economic in his movements, as he always is.

Her master surveys the battle from the fortress, controlling his forces as if it were a giant game of chess. Her master is good at it, brilliant even, in her opinion. But she cannot deny that that slowly but steadily they are being pushed back.

And she tries, how much she tries to turn the tide, but even her best efforts are simply not enough.

The ship suddenly appears in front of her eyes again. From this close she sees that, aside from the odorous Elves, it also carries one of the jewels that had long ago been stolen from her master. It angers her that they dare to thrust it in her face, a provocation if there ever was one.

A quick glance around tells her the other dragons are all occupied and currently don’t need her help. It leaves her free to finally destroy that flying ship and she begins the task with fervor. She waves through the clouds, misshapen things with serrated edges, in pursuit of the elusive impossibility. Surely, if there are flying ships, what else will the enemy come up with?

She catches sight of the taunting boat near the fortress and she speeds up, for her master is inside the mountain and she cannot let any enemy come this close.

She gains on the ship, overtakes it. She swivels around her own axis and blasts her inner flames at the white sails. They catch fire, but that doesn’t seem to hinder the little boat in the least. She is astounded, because though this is the first ship she’s ever seen, she is absolutely sure ships aren’t supposed to sail without sails.

She opens her jaws wide and with a rushing sound they clamp down. The ship is in her mouth; she feels its mast poke uncomfortably at the inside of her cheek. She stokes the fire in her belly and it rumbles up, ready to incinerate this threat for once and for all.

A sudden pain makes her roll back and her fire subsides. Never before has she felt anything like this; she tastes her own blood. In a reflex she spits the ship back out and it launches at her with vigor, and perhaps it is the jewel or perhaps it is the combined power of her enemies or something else entirely, but she isn’t fast enough to evade the thing and she is propelled backwards. She feels her wings collide with the mountainside. Beneath her immensity it gives way and she keeps falling, down and down and down, and around her the fortress collapses.

There are no thoughts in her mind, just an endless sense of shock and disbelief. This cannot be happening. It is simply not possible.

She doesn’t doubt her master is okay, for the alternative is too terrible to even contemplate, but she knows she has singlehandedly destroyed their chance of winning this war.

The rocks that were once a tall and proud mountain fall on top of her and she is completely buried in a tomb of fallen stone, like so long ago the shards of her shell covered her.

Like then, this is another test but it is dark and now she doesn’t have the strength to free herself. She forces herself to remain calm, to breathe. Her fire is weak from both her position on her back and her distress, and this time her master isn’t there to coax her on. To calm herself she focuses on her own heartbeat. It isn’t as effective as her master’s, but it works.

Right up to the moment her breath fails her. What little air there is returns to her lungs again and again, without that essential part that gives it its freshness.

All alone in the darkness, buried underneath her childhood home, she suffocates.


End file.
